Sons of the Gods

by James Von Ohlen

  Eric looked at him questioningly. “Registered on your what now? And where have you been?”

  “It will make sense later.”

  “And why exactly are we avoiding the others? Have they betrayed us?” Eric quickly picked up his sword from where it had fallen, not quite holding it at the ready.

  “No, but they are still under Anhur’s thrall. There’s no telling how they might react at this point. That’s why I’ve been following you. Until you were far enough away from them for us to speak without their notice. You’re free from Anhur’s command.”

  “What exactly would they be reacting to?” Eric realized he was whispering. Not because his throat was still being constricted, but he felt as though he was party to some grand conspiracy.

  “For now, follow me. And be as silent as possible.”

  Easier said than done. Eric blinked once and the surface of Torsten’s armor swam, a kaleidoscope of silvery colors and running water. Like the surface of it was liquid instead of metal and then the man was gone. Invisible.

  At least until he moved. Eric could just barely make out the shape of a man before him, shimmering like heat rising from the ground when he moved. But only when he moved.

  “Stay close, Eric.” The man spoke to him in a tone that suggested that Eric might actually be human. It was rare to hear anything other than orders of an officer being delivered to his men when Torsten spoke to him in the past. Or the contempt of the War God for men in general.

  That wasn’t the only difference about the man. Something that he couldn’t quite put his finger on struck Eric as odd. The man’s voice had changed, but was still recognizable. The hard and threatening edge gone from it. He seemed relaxed.

  As if Anhur was gone.

  It struck him that he had found the source of the difference. Even the man’s presence felt different. Less threatening. Though he still struck Eric as a man not to be fucked with. It seemed like someone had removed Anhur from him. Perhaps Torsten had found some Mountain Man exorcist in the Graveyard that had driven away the War God and cast some incredible spells on him. As well as giving him some strange armor. Not fucking likely though.

  Eric watched the swimming light before him. Torsten’s back, as it were. When he had seen it, it was clearly armor. But it seemed so insubstantial. Like a good blade would pass right through it. He would take his own mail, neglected as it were of late, over that any day. At least solid steel had a chance of stopping an enemy’s blows.

  The two wound through the ruins, and onto a low rise that gave a view of the plains just beyond the destroyed city. Eric looked out at them, staring at the huge jumbles of twisted metal structures that dotted the land.

  “What are they? Fortifications?” He asked as he looked.

  “Of a sort. The remains of the Behemoth.” Torsten answered.

  “And what is a Behemoth?”

  “It was a very large UN battleship that was shot down and crashed here.”

  Eric looked to the shimmering mass of light that was Torsten. He could see through him if the man was still for the briefest moment. Shiny new armor, or no, clearly this man was insane. What does that say about me for following him, Eric wondered.

  Torsten pointed low on the horizon. “There. The Lost Star is rising. Anhur is coming and we should be in a safer place if we are to remain undetected.”

  They continued on in silence. Once Torsten turned and grabbed Eric, pulling him into an alley of broken stone and warped steel bars without a word. He held Eric in his grip, frighteningly powerful for several tense moments before shoving him back out onto the rubble strewn street.

  They descended a set of stairs and Torsten pushed aside a pile of rocks, sending the sound echoing over the empty streets behind them. If the men of Torsten’s crew were within a few miles there was no way they’d have missed that. Down into darkness. Eric hesitated to follow.

  “You’ll need this to see.” Torsten spoke back to him as his shimmering form solidified once more to a man in oddly shaped metal armor. The plates seemed crafted in the shape of a man’s muscle but with strange angular planes mixed in. It sat close to his body as well. Like a second skin.

  Eric had heard a blacksmith say that armor was shaped the way it was, because that was the shape that worked best. Eric supposed there was purpose to what he was seeing, but he couldn’t discern it. A glowing orb of witchlight appeared at Torsten’s wrist and obliterated the darkness ahead of him.

  Through twisting and turning hallways they moved. Eric couldn’t say for how long, only that it wasn’t a short time and he was starting to get hungry. And by the smell of it, he hadn’t gotten all of the shit off of his boot either.

  They descended repeatedly. Stairs downwards. Hallways sloping downwards. At one point climbing down a vertical shaft that seemed to have no bottom. Everything clearly manmade. Lined with metal and polished stone. Every now and then the remains of a long dead human still clad in the remains of the strange clothing that the Ancients favored.

  The pair paused before a large metal door set in a thick frame with no visible hinges. Eric had learned to read in his time in Fort Pleasant, and though the writing style was unfamiliar he could still make out the words.

  MILITARY INTELLIGENCE, SECTION 15

  He’d heard spies and the like referred to in the past as intelligence. But this combination of words didn’t make sense to him. Just gibberish, he concluded. Maybe even graffiti from some long dead punk-kid of the Ancients. He couldn’t help but smile at the thought of looking at thousand year old vandalism.

  Without a sound the door slid open and soft white light spilled out on him. Torsten’s witchlight turned off and he stepped into the room ahead of Eric. He paused and looked back at the soldier he had guided to this point through the maze of hallways. Torsten raised his metal clad hands and played with something on his helmet.

  A series of pops sounded and a hiss, and then the armor protecting his head came away in his hands. Eric realized for the first time that Torsten was clean shaven and his hair had been cropped close to his head. Somewhere down here in whatever the hell this place was, he’d managed to find a razor and barber’s kit, and seen fit to put the time into shaving and cutting his hair.

  There was no denying it. Eric was envious. As a young man he’d wanted nothing more than to sport a beard that would make a Mountain Man jealous. Now that he did, he found it more of a nuisance than anything else. He dreamed of being able to shave it all off and to feel the smooth skin beneath.

  “At ease, Eric. You are among friends here.” Torsten spoke and turned back into the room. Eric looked around seeing nothing but a large empty chamber, illuminated by witchlight. What imaginary friends was he talking about, exactly?

  He began to open his mouth to say something to that effect to Torsten and instead yelped and leaped backwards fumbling for his sword as something silvery and blue appeared before him. His eyes came into focus on the new object just before he could take a swing at it with his blade.

  A woman.

  A beautiful woman at that. A translucent, beautiful woman.

  Torsten had brought him down here to see a ghost? He was almost angry until she smiled. His anger died a premature death and he wondered if it was possible to love a ghost at first sight.

  “Eric, I am Modi.” She said, flashing a row of neat white teeth.

  “But Modi is a man’s name.” He stammered without thought, flustered by what was happening.

  Modi frowned and then looked at Torsten. He only laughed in an “I told you so” manner.

  “My father may have wanted a son. Instead he got me. Enough about my name. You are here so that we can make you an offer.”

  “You and Torsten are going to make me an offer? Why couldn’t you just make your offer a few hours ago when you found me?” He looked to the other man, reclining against a pillar of some shiny white material and he shook his head in response.

  “Not him.” Modi responded. “Us.”

  As she
finished the last word Eric leapt back again as an old man stepped out of thin air next to her. Torsten laughed, trying to conceal it behind a raised hand.

  “Hear what they would say, Eric. Or rather, see.” He managed after stifling his amusement.

  “And what will you show me before you make me this offer?” His eyes slowly traced the edges of Modi’s figure.

  Modi smiled as her clothing shifted and changed from a silver robe to something more revealing. A stylish dress, low-cut in the front and back. It clung tight to her form and a long slit ran up the side to above her hip on one side.

  I’m checking out a ghost, and she’s letting me, Eric thought. That’s kind of fucked up.

  “Will you allow us to show you?” She asked. “We won’t force anything upon you.” He nodded his head enthusiastically. Too late he remembered tales from his childhood about demons and other evil spirits that held no power over a man unless he allowed them to. Oh well, he had always liked gambling.

  “Come with me.” Modi motioned towards Eric, turned and began walking towards a blank wall. As she approached it split in half vertically and the two sides slid away and down, revealing a small chamber just beyond them. There stood a mishmash of glass and steel that Eric didn’t recognize. It looked like something he’d seen in an alchemist’s lab he had broken into when he was about 12, but the resemblance was weak at best.

  “And what is this?” He asked as he followed.

  “The Chamber of Enlightenment.” Her voice sounded far away. Distorted.

  “Be seated, please.” She pointed to a comfortable if strange looking chair.

  Eric did as was suggested. He approached the chair and removed the bow and quiver from his back before putting them on the floor next to it along with his sword. All within easy reach should he need them. Torsten nodded his approval. Only a fool left his weapons too far away to be of use.

  Eric sat on the chair and started as it began to recline. He’d heard of such things before, but only as the rumored furnishings of the King’s summer palace. That such a rare and expensive thing was sitting underground like this seemed a waste. But he would enjoy it while it lasted.

  The reclining action stopped midway to being flat, leaving him looking up at the blank ceiling. A large empty circle of white metal began descending from the ceiling, seemingly under its own power. He could see nothing holding it up and could hear a slight humming noise coming from within it.

  The halo reminded him of the War God’s collars that the men of Torsten’s crew wore. It dawned on him that Torsten had not been wearing one and he turned his head to look back at the man. He returned his gaze, at ease, and nodded his head once.

  Fuck it, Eric thought. You only live once. And if that man over there had wanted me dead, I would have been dead a long time ago. Besides, how often do hot ghosts offer to show me something in a Chamber of Enlightenment? Though he suspected on some level that he might be about to damn himself for all eternity, he was strangely relaxed. Something in the air here smelled good as well. Like… vanilla.

  The halo adjusted course and seemed to center itself around the crown of his head. There it began to spin and his vision whited out. He felt…something. Not unlike the buzzing and insects crawling over him sensation he had felt several times under The Lost Star. But somehow pleasant, if such a thing were possible.

  Movement of the halo came to a stop some time later. It receded back towards the ceiling where it had originated from. Eric sat up, hands shaking, and he took a deep breath and exhaled mightily before he began crying. He leaned forward and cradled his head in his hands, appearing as though he were lost in despair.

  After a few minutes, it passed and he looked up towards Torsten. There was anger on Eric’s face as the last few tears rolled down his cheeks and into his beard. But it was not directed at Torsten. And not directed towards the holographic projections of Modi and Vidar that stood near him as well.

  “Will you help us?” Modi asked, music in her voice.

  Eric looked towards her, meeting the gaze of the projected image he had thought to be a ghost only a few minutes before. He didn’t answer her. Instead he turned to Torsten and responded.

  “Where is the armory?”

  “ARE you sure this will work?” Eric asked as he and Torsten stood a homing beacon on end. The long tripod with a small satellite dish on top scraped against the rubble littering the street. Eric looked up and saw the remains of the ruined Ministry of Defense building.

  The same street where Torsten had seen his first ghostly visions of the past. The battle for control of Andersonville between the planetary defense forces and the mechanized soldiers of the UN and Coalition. And the aftermath of that battle. A suggested data stream popped into his subconscious, offering details of the fighting. Descriptions of the units involved and their deployments. He dismissed it. Perhaps later.

  “We’ll know soon enough.” Torsten spoke out loud, though the equipment built into the armor system they wore negated that need. As designated unit commander, Torsten could communicate to all members of his unit through a limited interface directly between their minds.

  A valuable tool, he had first thought when he tested it out with Eric. But too similar to what Anhur had been doing when he was still in the War God’s thrall. It would probably take a little while before he was comfortable using the new technology at his disposal.

  As he thought about the unit built into his armor and that of his subordinates, at that moment totaling only Eric, a data flow was suggested by his suit for his perusal. Technical details began to unfold, describing the process by which his armor allowed this feat of communication. Too much information at the intersection of biology and physics to be of interest with a potential fight looming near. He dismissed it and returned to the task at hand.

  Once the beacon stood upright, he removed a small metal canister from his pack and placed it in an opening on the side. A battery of some type. Very similar to the one he had found at Anhur’s command some weeks back. If the self-styled War God was so desperate to find something so simple, he must be in dire straits indeed.

  The unit beeped once as the battery clicked into place and the control display came to life. It showed the interface of a unit meant for use in surveying from orbit. Far more precise measurements could be made this way than by the methods Torsten had been passingly familiar with back in The Kingdom. Surveying for construction purposes was well and good, but this time the equipment had a different use.

  As Vidar saw it, or as Modi communicated that he saw it, they would allow the unit to broadcast its signal. That would undoubtedly be picked up by Anhur’s battle station, passing above just about then, and he would send the remainder of Torsten’s crew to investigate. Only then the War God’s signal would be scrambled, leaving the men to act independently of him for the time being.

  Once they arrived, Torsten and Eric would attempt to disable them and bring them into the fold. The medical facilities below that still retained some functionality would be used to repair what damage they could. Then they would be given the same knowledge and offer that Torsten and Eric had been given.

  Torsten attempted to raise his hand and brush it against the scar on the side of his head. The armor was so comfortable that he frequently forgot that he was even wearing it. It seemed so light and flowed so smoothly that it was like and extra layer of skin. A suggested data stream for the security armor he wore popped in his subconscious. He skimmed through it in a fraction of a second.

  Words he had no idea the meaning of, and had never even heard before for that matter, a few days before were as known to him as common parlance for discussing the weather. The data was reassuring. That though the armor was light, it was strong and would serve him well.

  He still rubbed the side of his helmet. The spot directly over where the scar sat. They had shown him what they had pulled out of his head, after he recovered. Modi had explained to him that it was a primitive and barbaric technology that interfaced dir
ectly between the brain and external computers. The implant combined with the War God’s collar allowed Anhur to remotely control Torsten and the others in his crew as though they were puppets.

  But the technology was not sophisticated as far as such things were concerned, and Vidar and Modi had been able to break into it. Several times they had blocked out Anhur’s signal, allowing Torsten’s crew to be free of the alien general, if only for a short time. Until their power levels ran too low to continue. They could send visions to Torsten as well, like the scenes of city life and battle he had witnessed in the ruined park.

  “Are you doing that now?” Torsten asked as he looked down at the pieces of Anhur’s equipment and then up to Modi’s face.

  “No. Now you are a seeing a holographic projection. It represents my sense of self when I volunteered for the… project.” Modi paused as she seemed to search for the correct word. “Anhur’s equipment has been disabled completely and his hold over you broken.”

  “And did you put something in its place?” Torsten had asked when shown the device.

  A lengthy description of gene therapies that had been delivered to him and the cognitive benefits, increased strength and coordination, and increased metabolic efficiency that would follow in the coming months as his cells turned over and become something new and better took place. They described to him the process by which the halo could implant knowledge directly into his brain and how a smaller version was available in the more advanced suits of combat and security armor fielded by the Veldt planetary defense forces.

  All of these things combined would allow him to interface with computers outside of his person, but they assured him that they could not take control of his body through these technologies, and that were it possible, they would consider it unethical to do so. They reassured him that they had put nothing back in the place of the removed implant. He decided he would take their word for it. For now.

  What other choice did he have? He found himself thinking of using equipment in a nearby medical bay to scan his head for foreign objects. Why would they have given him such knowledge and put the equipment at his disposal if they were trying to hide something from him?